You see, I kidnapped poor Jack and made him promise to send me word if you went careering off anywhere. I thought if you were living, and not captured, I should find you here,—and I was right. " At this juncture, two women, very smartly attired in silk hoods and cloaks, appeared at the door of the Lodge. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible.
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